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Gruel'n'Company
"She's not ready yet..." Beep. Beep. Beep. The heart monitor continues the same steady pace as the last time Ambrosia Delgard enjoyed consciousness. There is no definitive indication of just how long had elapsed, but the white 'natural daylight' illumination of the medical pod is unchanged, and the medical officer with whom she'd spoken seems to be engaged in a tense conversation with the intercom. "If the '''prisoner..." '''even distorted by the vocoder, the voice of the Security Bureau officer who'd put Ambrosia here is unmistakable. "...is capable of speaking, it is capable of continuing interrogation, doctor." The woman's hand hovers for a moment over the broadcast button before she presses it again. "In my '''expert opinion, t'he prisoner' is not fit for further interrogation at this time. If you wish to override me, you know where my superior's office is, Agent." and she switches the channel off altogether. Feeling quite refreshed compared to her last awakening, Ambrosia lays quietly in bed, eyes closed...just listening. Slower heartbeats save a few calories, so that's what she's been attempting to maintain. Another advantage of her time spent in the little bubble of safety is that she's had time to contemplate her situation from more angles than the fight-or-flight mode she'd been high on upon entry. Consensus is? Situation still most unideal...but it's bought her time. What her fellow factioners have done (or not) with that time remains unknown, but the woman can still hope. If only just a little. When the doctor has ended her conversation with the small, greasy man, Ambrosia mumbles, one brow arched in appraisal. "Well, that was courageous." "Welcome back." the woman replies, fingers of her near side hand clenching and relaxing as if pumping an imaginary stress reliever. The blonde swallows hard and draws a fortifying breath. "Less than you'd think..." she admits with a shrug of her shoulders."...if I just handed you over my afternoon would be easier, but I'd have to answer for the consequences further down the line." she turns and crosses to the bed side, filling a ribbed cup from a water pitcher. "It was a compliment," Ambrosia watches her fill the cup. "Just accept it." Stretching her spine with a little sigh, she takes another fruitless gander around the pod. "Who's your superior? I'll assume they must be formidable enough if you challenged Agent sunshine out there to interrupt their day." “Commander Keler, head of..." the woman continues brushing off the compliment, before stopping herself. She sets the cup down for a moment and swears under her breath. "...I’m pretty sure I wasn't supposed to answer that question." lips rolled into her mouth one after another as her jaw grinds in self-recrimination. "Guess whose getting an official reprimand in her file." the question is rhetorical, but she lingers a moment before picking up the cup of water again and bringing it to Ambrosia's lips. Locking this miniscule nugget of a victory away for future processing, Ambrosia is content to cease fishing and takes a nice, long swallow of the offered water. "They'll keep you around. You're obviously well-trained, and from what I gather, med school is expensive." *Sip* "From a purely business perspective, you're too big an investment to toss out. Probably." "Gee, thanks..." the woman remarks with a wrinkled nose. "...from compliment to gloating in five seconds flat." she withdraws the half-emptied cup. Not too much at once, and draws a small flashlight pen from her uniform, the bright light flashing from eye to eye as she checks pupil response. "Guess you are feeling better." Ambrosia shrugs. "I like to be honest. Didn't say it was my best asset." She blinks, turning her face aside. "My stomach feels otherwise," she notes in response to the assessment. "It's been awfully bored and seemingly begun to digest itself. I don't suppose you've scraps laying about that you secretly save for the poor, stray ferals that roam about at night?" "That'll happen..." the doctor affirms matter-of-factly, tucking away the pen-light she moves to the far side of the heart monitor, the soft chirp of acknowledged inputs moving her through data screens. "I think we can try a little plain food, yes." she nods toward Ambrosia. "How's your tooth? I put it back in for you, wouldn't be terribly hologenic with a big gap in your smile, would you?" "I don't think I'm going to be very hologenic anytime soon, teeth or not. But thank you." The ambassador manages a sad chuckle in spite of herself. "Unless they've got a good makeup artist out there to hide their handiwork if the plan is to broadcast their prize." "Still convinced we're all evil, huh?" a slender blonde brow rises above one eye as she switches off the display and returns to Ambrosia's bedside. "Getting you some mashed vegetables from the mess. Not the tastiest thing on board but you've been without solid food for a while. I don't want to give your stomach more than it can handle right now." she smiles thinly. "Can have some of my butter ration, liven things up a bit." Ambrosia lifts her brows with mild surprise. "Sounds festive. I'm not in a position to be finicky with the menu, so...grateful for what you've got. Butter or not." Probing that 'new' tooth with her tongue, she turns a softer, more serious expression on her caretaker. "You're not all evil, by the way, in my book. Most of you are simply normal people, doing as you know to do. Children aren't born cruel...but put one in the care of someone who is and, well...they've the potential to turn from beetle-crushers to destroyer of worlds. It's just how things are. And perhaps forever will be. But therein lies my job security." She smiles weakly. "If everyone got along peacefully, I'd retire before age forty." "Three square a day, a warm bunk, my internship and a pretty good pension." the woman shrugs off-handedly, drawing up a chair as she freshens the water cup and offers it to Ambrosia. "Beats factory work...joining the Navy is probably the best thing I could've done with my life. How about you, how'd you become an 'ambassador'?" she stresses the word, as if saying it seems a little preposterous to her. "Never been this close to a state dignitary before." "Well, it's not all bells and whistles." Ambrosia grimaces, taking just a small sip of water before resting her head back. "You take a lot of flack from a lot of people, some who may be fluent in four more languages than you are, and some who have barely mastered their own. You struggle to uphold the values and mission statements of those you represent, while catering to the whims and desires of those your serve. Not always the same. But...when treaties are signed, peace bartered, trade flourishes, or peoples freed to form their own democracy...it's worth it." Swallowing back some saliva, she adds a little smirk. "Pay's not bad, either, which is no small benefit when you're sole caregiver to a rambunctious youth and an ailing parent. Or at least *was*." Ended on a bitter note. "I more or less fell into this position of appointment. After the Empire's careless 'disposal' of me botched, I was salvaged by a smuggler's crew. Was toured around a bit, earned my keep how I could, which let's face it, wasn't always so 'dignified'. Followed the trail of the 'rebellion' and fell in. Got a job as a temp, an aide for Caspar's 'then' Republican ambassador. Secretarial junk. Then, one day, he dropped dead. Assasin. Well, he hadn't another intern in line to take his place, so...eyes turned to me. I assumed the position. Made some valuable connections. Proved my worth. And now I'm here." The younger woman listens with pursed lips, cradling the cup of water in her palm, one knee crossed over the other. "Why the Rebellion?" she asks at the end. "I mean, there're safer ways to live than being a wanted terrorist. If all you want is a quiet life...well, factory work's not the worst there is." Ambrosia draws a shaky breath, knuckles cracking one at a time beneath her thumbs. "Because one does not forgive the theft of a child. Or the horror." Opening her eyes, she sniffs back a tear. "I wanted my freedom and I took it. I'll admit, the food was good. The baths, the fabrics. I was well cared for, in the beginning. But death seemed a more favorable option than continuing to live as property." "Oh." There's a long, pregnant silence. "Revenge, then?" the woman ventures cautiously after the long pause. "You wanted to make them pay?" "Yes." Fingers tremble, held still by a firm grip on the sheet beneath her. "And work toward saving other from sharing in my 'experience'...which I suppose could have been worse, had I not the fortune of being born human. That is the reality I help our government to fight." Jaw tense, Ambrosia glances briefly to the doctor. "I'd like my vegetables now, please," she whispers. "They're coming." The doctor assures with an empathetic, if not entirely energetic smile. A hand lightly finds Ambrosia's forearm just above the restraint securing her wrist. "Some midshipman is having to run them up from the galley by hand." she gives only the gentlest of squeezes, aiming to lighten the mood. "Room service at the Grand Imperial Hotel." There's silence. Not much else to talk about. "So you've been on Caspar a long time?" she asks. "What’s it like? Doubt I'll be getting shore leave..." Ambrosia's cheek twitches. "It's beautiful. Forests, mountains, beaches...even the Sarian language is beautiful." Closing her eyes against an oncoming tear, she utters "Ene cerrtobash mushni'. Mu'eirre." (I'm not so sure it will ''be for long. So much fire.)'' "I don't recommend venturing planet-side. When the Caspians open their eyes and look inward...it won't be as easy a conquest as the Empire seeks." "You're still so sure we're here to conquer them, huh?" the young officer seems almost amused. There's no trace of cruelty in her tone, but the scenario certainly strikes her as surreal. "What with feeding them, treating their illnesses, directing their space traffic, protecting their emergency services..." she ticks off the counter-points. "...there're riots down there right now. We get Caspian news feeds on the holonet. Some protestors got drunk and started throwing bottles. So your marines shot them. The Caspian Army's been deployed to restore order." she gives a heavy sigh. "It’s a mess, but I’m pretty sure we're not the ones who made it that way. I think you've got far too much faith in what the rebellion tells you they're doing, compared with what they '''are' doing." "And you're still so sure those holovids they feed you are real?" Ambrosia shakes her head. "I know those people. Someone was puppeteering that night, but it wasn't us. The helmet mics from my men and women on that lawn fed into the embassy - into the ears of my guys stationed at MY door. Someone else shot first. They were being overrun and began to fire stun shots, until someone fired a live round. Wounded one of my marines. So you bet your ass they began to return fire, all the while trying to retreat indoors. But that would not have mattered, because this 'innocent' mob blew it up. With my CHILD inside!" Head continuing to wag, a new surge of fire flickers within her dilating pupils. "Food, protection, medical services - those were offered on a conditional basis, only, to a completely independent faction who in NO way is subservient to the Empire. Was there a treaty infringement? Yes, the facts do tell so. His most 'gracious' Lord Thel himself attended our most recent sit-down with the Presav. But we've got a piece of that treaty, too. There are far more civil ways to renegotiate broken terms and injured feelings than to usurp a system's air space and force its people into 'conditional' avoidance of starvation. Personally, I think the 'noble' Lord simply didn't take kindly to being bested in that conference room, and pulled some strings. But that's just a woman's intuition." "I’m not an idiot!" the young woman asserts sharply, her chest puffing up and shoulders tipping back. "I know to read between the lines, but they're Caspian news reports alright." she sighs heavily, shaking her head. "They've really done a number on you..." she sounds almost sorry. "...its more plausible to you that the Empire engineered all of this out of spite, from one man's bruised ego, than admit that your marines got trigger happy and over-reacted?" "I'm not an idiot, either." Ambrosia counters, voice low and unnaturally calm. "What better way to influence the CDU's perspective of the Empire, than to portray *us* as the source of all their problems then - just in case they weren't convinced - physically wipe us from the planet and 'rescue' the Caspian people from this treacherous little 'viper' who's lurked so peacefully in their grass?" A 'tsk' is given softly, followed by a tired sigh. "I'll give Aldus the praise he deserves, all right. It was a masterfully executed mission. This isn't the first time the Empire tried to claim Caspar for its own, but things seem to be flowing much more smoothly for them this round. The older generation who remembers - their numbers dwindle. The youth hold the vote. But they'll learn. I just won't around to fix it." Two for two, the women seemed to have ended up in an argument. Still, nobody was smashing anybody's kneecaps. So it couldn't be all bad. However tense things had become, they're interrupted by the sharp buzz of the isolation pod door and the doctor rises to her feet. When the door slides open, it reveals only a brightly lit airlock, presumably the pod is used for quarantining patients as well. She emerges a moment thereafter carrying a small metalic tray, several compartments filled with mashed and pureed vegetables in three different colours. A few foil wrapped pats of butter rest in their own little segment. She seals the door, a sharp hiss of exchanged pressure as she makes her way back to the bedside and takes up a spoon. "Dinner is served..." she sighs, "...green, orange, or white?" Ambrosia eyes the selection with about as much enthusiasm as can be expected. But...beggars cannot be choosers. "Green," she votes and rolls her wrists about in their restraints. "I know it's a fool's request, but is there a chance I may try to operate an arm? If you'll free just one? I have no desire, nor reason to do you harm. If I should try, well...I think you're capable of dispatching me easily enough." "I’m sorry." the medic seems apologetic enough, shaking her head in the negative as she scoops up a spoonful of the pureed veg. It might be peas, though the description of the choice by colour doesn't hold out much help. "I can't. It’s less about my health and more...well..." she lets the thought trail off before she resolves to express its conclusion "...sometimes extremists take extreme measures. I know it’s strange but it’s better than the feeding tube, right?" Ambrosia scrounges up a small smile, eyeing the peas as they come her way, then. "I'm unsure whether to be flattered or insulted that they view me as a dangerous 'extremist'. I'm not exactly built for combat, nor do I desire to make my daughter an orphan. But...I suppose I do possess a little spark." Complacently, she opens her mouth and waits for momma bird to make the deposit. "Here comes the starship..." the young woman teases as she moves the spoon into comfortable reach, and watches Ambrosia with genuine interest for her reaction to Imperial Naval fare. It’s warm, so there's that but it tastes like it was rehydrated from powder. "...needs the butter, huh?" Eyes narrowing as she's mildly baited, the bed-bound ambassador slurps every molecule of slop from that spoon with an effort that nearly turns her cheeks inside-out. She swallows, head tipping in contemplation of the contents. "Yes," she nods. "Maybe a little." "...tough crowd..." the blonde medic stage-whispers in a breathy tone, avoiding the narrow-eyed glare she nods her understanding agreement and sets the tray down to scrape the lightly melted butter pat onto the pureed veg and vigorously mixes it up with the deftness of a woman whose accustomed to rendering this abortion of catering palatable. "You're kind of dour..." she observes, scooping up another spoonful that will, with luck, taste a little better. "...you know that? I mean, I get it. Prisoner, not fun, but there's only so long I can keep you here. Why're you putting so much energy into hating me?" "So you don't miss you when I'm gone?" Ambrosia tries it on for size, taking another mouthful. Another ponderous lip smack and she nods her satisfaction. "Better. But I'm still allowed to be a disgruntled pain in your ass. I've got a reputation to uphold, remember? Rebellious beast, fit for the slaughter, robbed of her home, husband, and children. Cast into chains and put on display. How is it I'm supposed to feel? I am grateful for your kindness, I've stated as much. I'd offer to take you with me, when my friends come calling, but...I don't think you're apt to accept." "You think they're really coming?" she asks, stirring up the unmelted butter for better distribution as she scoops up a third spoonful of the otherwise fairly flavorless 'green'. "Do they even know where you are?" she glances around her without moving her head, offering the food to Ambrosia. "And this is the flagship of the fleet...it’s not like we wouldn't notice a boarding party. I’m not a military strategist but attacking a fleet of Star Destroyers, boarding the flagship and fighting their way to the most secure area on board, all on a hunch?" her brow furrows, is it concern? Confusion? "Not wise." she finishes. "Maybe not yet," Ambrosia replies, gaze turned vacant as she looks *through* the doctor and into another place and time. Her mouth continues to operate its feeding behavior with robotic precision. "But stranger things have happened." The vacant gaze is enough to give the doctor pause. She stops feeding the restrained woman, fingers moving before her eyes and snapping in alternation to check for sensory response. Satisfied that she's not suffered a stroke, she breathes a sigh of relief, moving onto the dollop of 'orange' and then 'white' in an uncomfortable silence. "Mmm, changing it up," Ambrosia poorly feigns excitement and takes another mouthful. "It is...good, though. Food. I honestly didn't think he'd let me eat." "Maybe try cooperating?" the medic suggests, earnestly as she continues to spoon feed the ambassador. "I guess you'll have to draw your own line on where to stop, but as long as you're in that room they're basically gods. Fighting him every step of the way is just going to make you suffer more." she sighs heavily, gesturing around the room between mouthfuls. "I can't guarantee this'll be the treatment the next time. He /could/ pull you out of here any time he wants. Doesn't even have to let you come back, and you got that little girl of yours to think about." "I know that," Ambrosia snaps, before relaxing her nerves and offering an apologetic bow of her head. "I've drawn my line. I'll admit, I went a little overboard the first time, but...anyone with half a spine would've done the same." *munch* The tray is now almost empty, and with a last offered spoonful it is cleared. "Do you think she's ok?" the young doctor asks after a moment's silence. "Your daughter? I saw you talk about her on the newscasts. The sign she made? "No," Ambrosia answers softly, gaze again withdrawn. "I know she is. She's with the Jedi now. He has his instructions."